


Un-Break My Heart

by UnknownEnigma



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Divorce, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Infidelity, Intersex, Kings & Queens, M/M, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Mpreg, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownEnigma/pseuds/UnknownEnigma
Summary: "Before you can wallow in your feelings, explain what happened to N'Jadaka. He deserves that. You owe him honesty because you pledged that to him alongside your love and fidelity. Do not deprive him any more of what he is due T’Challa.” Shuri spoke with conviction as if she knew that her method would yield the best results as if she knew the answer to all difficulties in the world. She would always have his back, have his best interests even if he was in the wrong. He appreciated all that she did and would do for him. Even if it meant facing his fears.In theory, N'Jadaka knew that putting together broken pieces was harder then buying a new heart. But he didn't bank on the journey of self discovery and learning exactly when he and T'Challa fell in love, why T'Challa cheated on him in the first place, and if he had the strength to stay after all.





	1. Matunda ya kwanza - Edited 15/06/2018

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteCrow96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCrow96/gifts).



> Dedicated to my wonderful beta who has to deal with all the crap I write at 03:00 and still edits for me, even when it's an incoherent mess. Thank you.
> 
> Prose written to and inspired by the best of 90's R&B HeartBreak.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'First fruits of the harvest'

In retrospect, it was not one of T’Challa’s finest moments in his life, nor was it a member of the large group of intelligent, rational decisions he made on a regular basis. Although, when it came to N’Jadaka, T’Challa knew from previous experience that he tended to wax poetic and act idiotic, regaining his common sense at a later date. However, this time the joke was not all that humorous in the end.

 

T’Challa knew first hand that he had no claim to the title of ‘perfect ruler’ western media had ascribed to him. He was well aware of his own shortcomings after years of marriage and a truly disastrous first term as King, according to the general public consensus.

 

T’Challa was not blind to the opinions of the Taifa Ngao. Many of the council members stemming from his father's reign found him petulant, arrogant and stubborn, his recent dealings with the west and the wider population of Earth made them uncomfortable and distrustful of his reign as King.

 

Moreover, the relationship between he and N’Jadaka was at therefore front of their minds. The fact that they had stilled their tongues and swords in action against his reign was due to the trust they held in N’Jadaka. As a child of Sekhmet, he served the interests of Wakanda, first foremost and forever, even if they did not believe T’Challa would, but T'Challa could not insult them to say they were blind to the relationship he and his Queen held.

 

N'Jadaka was his helpmate, a pledged child of Sekhmet. He covered all of his weaknesses and vice versa. They were a unit. Impenetrable.

 

Or at least they had been.

 

Through all things, T’Challa and N’Jadaka had grown together, exceeding the expectations, and criticisms, many had for their union when they first pursued each other. Exceeding the expectations T’Challa himself held for his marriage.

 

T’Chaka had rejoiced in their coupling, the fruit of his manipulation. While he saw their relationship as a new age for Wakanda, someone to ground T’Challa and build him into a better man. T’Challa couldn’t agree. His marriage to N’Jadaka was everything and nothing he had expected. It was all T’Chaka had ever wanted for him, and nothing T’Challa wanted for himself.

 

Lust had blindsided T’Challa and catching him off guard at first, but patience, trust, mental stimulation and physical prowess had sprung a well of companionship between them. Their companionship was carved and refined through trial and tribulation and truly, T’Challa knew they held each other's best interests in spite of all their issues and problems, and there was many.

 

Life, however, had a way of testing bonds in ways they hadn’t imagined, a tendency to place people in uncomfortable positions and force them to dig their ways out. T’Challa knew before anyone said a word that he and N’Jadaka had entered that stage of life. The stage in life where their marriage was harder. Relationships were a choice and T’Challa had to remind himself each and everyday to remain invested in his relationship with N’Jadaka.

 

They’d abandoned the heated, secret romance of their youth in exchange for a quiet, comfortable companionship that sometimes didn't feel like enough. T’Challa yearned for the spark that had dimmed after a build-up of tension, arguments, political unease, and his father's death. It was on this foundation that T’Challa had built his deceit.  

 

So it was to no surprise that the state of affairs in their relationship mimicked that of Wakanda’s politics. There was unspoken unease that penetrated the cracks in their relationship ripping them wide open. T’Challa’s decision to put an end to the country's isolationist status was a bone of contention between them. Alongside his move to introduce stronger trade links with the economic west. His decision had exacerbated their already strained personal issues, though T’Challa wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t until he had been languishing in the embrace of post-orgasmic bliss in foreign arms that he had allowed his mind to wander to N’Jadaka.

 

Where N’Jadaka was visceral power and strength, T’Challa was sly, cunning and manipulative. A panther in the night. T’Challa dominated their personal decision-making process with the same ease he dominated the global and intergalactic political field, N’Jadaka was not as equipped in that area.  

 

T’Challa had the tendency to crush the people in his way, indiscriminate of who they were, and N’Jadaka was no one special in that respect. T’Challa wondered at which point N’Jadaka stopped voicing his thoughts and opinions, instead choosing to revert to childishly stewing in his emotions and venting about him to others. If he was honest, T’Challa couldn’t remember the last time N’Jadaka broached the topic of children or gave an impassioned speech about why Wakanda should serve justice to the world.

 

T’Challa was not one to presume, so he did not know exactly what N’Jadaka thought, but he knew enough about his Queen to know that N’Jadaka saw his opinion to wait to have children hypocritical. Their world would never be safe enough again for them to bring forth a child when he constantly pushed for Wakanda to join the political arena and become a sitting duck for the storm that would follow.

 

T’Challa knew the responsibilities he had been acquiring put both N’Jadaka and the Taifa Ngao at ill-ease and he could understand why. Never had a monarch of Wakanda spent so much time outside of the country in their first years as he. T’Challa was sure his own father had not travelled as avidly as he had in the first years of his rule and he knew the traditionalist faction of Wakanda was waiting to sink their teeth into his underbelly for the perceived slight. What king would rather spend his time outside of his beloved country than within its borders?

 

N’Jadaka found issue with his many excursions but for different reasons. T’Challa had neglected their relationship, he could admit that, but N’Jadaka was a proud warrior who did not offer his own dilemmas with ease. Plus there was the issue of the genesis of their relationship which neither talked about.  The verbal contract that tied them together in a lifelong union that was built on the foundation of political stability and not love. There had been a large cooling of their relationship, entire weeks of time when neither spoke a word to each other, of official or unofficial matters but it could have been avoided if N’Jadaka had articulated his needs.

 

Stubbornness was a trait they shared and T’Challa knew that N’Jadaka was too proud to verbalise what was left unsaid between them. He could understand the suspicion and distrust of the decisions he’d made of recent but T’Challa would not allow insubordination. He was king. Bast had proclaimed T’Challa as the protector of Wakanda and T’Chaka had chosen him as King. His word was law. His decisions were just and right, the best course of actions for his country and his people, though the chill of N’Jadaka’s stare did not lessen in pain when it stabbed at his heart and soul.

 

N’Jadaka was a prideful being, much like the lions who unfailingly followed his goddess. No matter how often T’Challa searched his face after apologising profusely for a missed appointment, kissed his cheek before leaving in the middle of their personal time or arrived home early to surprise his Queen, there were many times when all he received in return was pursed lips, blank cold eyes and a polite dismissal. His wife was not one to easily forget or forgive.

 

But that was neither here nor there.

 

All actions birthed consequences, and T’Challa was not one to shy away from just punishment for his actions. So T’Challa would face his problems with his head held high and with the dignity, the beloved of Bast had beaten into him and he would explain to N’Jadaka all that which plagued him and be relieved of the weight on his shoulders. Even at his lowest point, when the voices in the back of his head whispered words of loss for all that he held near and dear, T’Challa knew to take what came with grace. For a reckoning was imminent and he himself had set the events in motion.

 

T'Challa doubted anyone would have predicted he would do as he did. The extent to which he had gone to, to secure N’Jadaka as his own, the blood, sweat and tears he had shed as payment. The long journey they had travelled to together to arrive at marriage, the heartache and pain both had endured as a result of his love, the compromises, the understanding, the effort.

 

Still, It was hard for T’Challa to find disgust for himself or his actions.

 

T’Challa shook his head.

 

T’Challa had been raised to treasure the gifts Bast blessed him with, N’Jadaka included, but he could not continue to hoard what didn’t belong to him, not while N’Jadaka’s heart lay outside his grasp.

 

At Sekhmet’s feet, he’d begged to be the steward of N’Jadaka’s soul and the price had been steep. T’Challa had hidden the cost of N’Jadaka’s love from everyone but Bast and though his love was not returned he could not find it within himself to regret all he did to secure N’Jadaka for himself.

 

The years of life he’d experienced before N’Jadaka had been empty and colourless. T’Challa knew that now. He’d given blood, sweat, tears and his birthright in exchange for N’Jadaka. The child of Sekhmet had barrelled into T’Challa’s life with

 

T’Chaka had offered N’Jadaka as his La’aka and T’Challa was immediately intoxicated by his presence and power. It was easy to fall into lust with tall, svelte frame that was covered in hundreds, if not thousands, of scars that proclaimed his battle prowess, the handcrafted piercings and adornments that highlighted the sepia of his skin and the white of his teeth. The beloved of Bast were adorned with ritual markings, tattooed on their skin with a mixture of the heart-shaped herb, wakandan silt and blood, they glowed the dark purple sangria colour ascribed to Bast. They did not wear gold piercings in the bridge of the nose, ears, nipples and navels like the children of Sekhmet nor did they scar their body after each kill like N’Jadaka and many of his sistren. Unlike many of his brothers in arms who preferred to find a mate inside their tribe or convert an outsider, T’Challa fell hard and fast for one of Sekhmet’s finest warriors.

 

In the days before N’Jadaka had given him any recognition, T’Challa had lurked behind pillars and tribe officials in order to glimpse the white of N’Jadaka’s smile or the sepia of his skin. He’d burned with jealousy at the ease at which W’Kabi and N’Jadaka conversed or the familiar hand his father rested on N’Jadaka’s shoulder.

 

In those days, T’Challa’s breath had left his body when N’Jadaka entered the room and all words fell from his vocabulary when N’Jadaka spoke. T’Challa had known from the moment N’Jadaka had thrown him to the floor and pressed the sharpened blade of his short knife against his jugular that the heaving, sweat-slicked warrior above him would be his. There was never any doubt in his mind that N’Jadaka would be his queen, his companion and the bearer of his children.

 

After he fulfilled the Kyoraikumkani with N’Jadaka’s help and they were settled in bed, limbs entangled to the point they were unable to decipher when one stopped and the other began. T'Challa had whispered the pain-tinged vows he had written for  N’Jadaka before he knew of heartache and the ugly truth.

 

The vows he had wanted to proclaim before the ancestors and the Damisa-Sarki that came before him, he’d instead whispered into sweat-soaked locks and cooling skin after making hedonistic yet apathetic love.

 

“I know you do push-ups when I'm not looking.

 

Deep breaths, short lunges, pushing against the ground like you can conquer gravity.

 

In your arms, I have learned true strength, N’Jadaka.

 

Before you, there was nothing, walls of emptiness. I had grown tired of the eucalyptus, the lilies, and the sunrise. You came into my life just as the long days spent felt like watching grass grow and the future of my destiny grew dim.

 

You made me the man I am. You taught me to love, patience, endurance, strength, and wisdom while introducing me to vulnerability, fear, and loss. You were the first to introduce me to true loss when you bested me in battle and took my pride.

 

I did not know fear until faced with the possibility that you would not choose in return.

 

I did not face vulnerability until you asked for that as the price of your help.

 

Many have said you were my downfall. That you are not the one for me because destiny delayed our meeting and coloured it with blood.

 

But they forget that I would do anything to keep you. I decided that the moment I saw you, that I would chew through vibranium for you.

 

You are Bast’s blessing created curvaceous.

 

Strong and supple, dynamic and still. You are my missing piece N’Jadaka.

 

Your hair on my chest has been my warmest blanket on the coldest of nights. Your eyes on my back have kept me safer than any armour. Your lips on mine have been the only reminder needed to know where home will always be.

 

I never appreciated how my palm fitted perfectly in the small of your back until the day I realised I may never hold you again. You accepted all that I am from the moment we met. You are my love and my home, my dwelling place for now and eternity.

 

You are what I use as a comparison when attempting to weigh all other beauty. The strength of your character is a beacon to me, and I am drawn to you. I love you.”

 

T'Challa’s voice had broken at that confession but the cover of darkness had been the only witness.

 

“The only test of strength that will ever truly challenge me is to be vulnerable next to you, to love you with a fire and fury that is deserving of someone belonging to Sekhmet.

 

I will cherish you, my gift from Sekhmet, forever.”

 

T’Challa had fallen into a fitful sleep that night, with tears streaming down his face caused by the pain of unrequited love and had lived his life ever since knowing he would never be able to claim N’Jadaka in the way he wanted. At that moment, T’Challa knew he’d damned himself to drown in his feelings forever without the reprieve of reciprocation.

 

And it was in the present moment that T’Challa realised that he could lose N’Jadaka forever.

 

T’Challa had to admit that revealing his inadequacies while he was buried deep within N’Jadaka was the stupidest, most ill-thought action he’d ever taken. The unspoken gulf that lay between them was a point of guilt within T’Challa that had been welling and filling with unspoken emotion for a long time.

 

T’Challa’s revelation lay on the tip of his tongue most days but offloading that in their most intimate moment was the most disrespectful thing he had ever done - defiling their sacred joining and tarnishing their relationship, even though there was very little to their relationship left.

 

He stared deep into N’Jadaka’s eyes as the sepia-skinned male had thrown his head back in pleasure, hips undulating and writhing beneath T’Challa’s bulk. He was sprawled out below him, his leg thrown over T’Challa’s shoulder with a glazed look in his eyes and moans pouring from his lips. Though N’Jadaka never said the words T’Challa longed to hear he also never lied with his eyes. T’Challa stared into eyes that appreciated the rhythm of his hips and the practised perfection of their lovemaking but did not return his love.

 

T’Challa leaned down, pressing a searing kiss to N’Jadaka’s slack mouth and receiving a sloppy, saliva-filled kiss in return. T’Challa raised himself up and thrust into N’Jadaka again but he couldn’t hide the wincing and the involuntary flinching of his body as the unreasonable guilt welled up inside him again. N’Jadaka pulled him close, hands firm on T’Challa’s shoulders and his eyes questioning and furrowed in concern.

 

"You good?" N’Jadaka asked, voice rough and textured from shouting himself raw, it was sensual and heady in a way that lit a spark at T’Challa’s chest. They hadn’t been this intimate in some time and it threw his mind into a loop somewhat. T’Challa hadn’t expected to return to the palace and see an oil-slicked N’Jadaka with his hair loose, falling down to frame his face and body. His lips were stretched into a smile that highlighted the piercings that glittered from the bridge of his nose, the outer edge and lobe of his ear, his nipples and navel. T’Challa was the only person besides the Sistren of Sekhmet to see N’Jadaka in such a state. It was only T’Challa’s eyes that could drink in the sight of N’Jadaka’s hair free and bereft of adornments a sight no one but N’Jadaka’s parents had seen before him.

 

N’Jadaka had met him at their bedroom threshold wearing a thin lace negligee that cupped his modest breasts and clung to his oiled body. It was a mouth-watering sight that had propelled T’Challa into gathering N’Jadaka into his arms and bringing him and laying him against their bed.

 

T’Challa couldn't find it in him to continue to thrust and grind into the receiving body below him with everything whirling around his mind. He stilled, sadly smiling down at N’Jadaka, their sweat mingling together and pooling on N’Jadaka’s heaving chest.

 

"No… no kipenzi. I apologise, you have been wonderful as always." T’Challa said adoringly, his hand stretching down to stroke N’Jadaka's cheek as the other huffed at him to disguise his indulgent smile. The motion was comfortable and relayed the time they had spent together to gain the ease of companionship, it was that action that broke T’Challa.

 

"I slept with another," T’Challa whispered the comment, but his voice sounded loud, echoing in the quiet of their room. N’Jadaka’s body stilled and he stopped grinding back against T’Challa’s pelvis, his grip on T’Challa's waist slackened falling to his side.

 

T’Challa knew that damage had been done when coffee coloured eyes closed, the expression on his face read as if his body was in excruciating physical pain.

 

"What?"

 

A beat of silence.

 

"I have indulged, numerous times, in sexual relations with another." T’Challa struggled to prevent the stammer that wanted to punctuate his words, "I spent the majority of the UN conference in Serbia with another and I intend to continue doing so."

 

"And you decided that when you’re balls deep inside of me is when you should say something?” N’Jadaka’s voice lost all the warmth and familiarity it had held before, and T’Challa noted the slight shakiness in his tone that betrayed his instability. There was another element to his voice that T’Challa couldn’t place though, something that added to the confusion T’Challa felt about his reaction.

 

"I could not let our relationship progress without telling you, it is only right” T’Challa replied, looking deeply into N’Jadaka’s eyes, trying to convey the sheer depth of his emotions and sincerity.

 

"Not when you have your cock in me!" N’Jadaka shouted, the emotional dam bursting as he wriggled his body beneath T’Challa’s bulk. T’Challa clenched his eyes closed as he tried to process exactly what he did wrong.

 

"Kipenzi, I apologise I did not think you would be so adverse to ..." They were the only words T’Challa could think of to convey his sincere apology, pulling them from all the other thoughts flying around his head.

 

"Adverse to what? You fucking some other bitch?” N’Jadaka shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling, “you need to leave. Now.” N’Jadaka’s voice held no room for argument, it was cold and clinical, aloof and detached, and T’Challa knew that he was rapidly losing ground in the conversation.

 

"I'm still within you." T’Challa murmured into N’Jadaka’s neck as he leaned down, physically pinning the other to the bed in an attempt to keep him still long enough to have a conversation.

 

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut.

 

N’Jadaka shifted his neck to the side and shook his head. “No, no, no, T’Challa.” He shifted, muscles tensing as he prepared to physically push T’Challa off of him.

 

T’Challa didn’t want a physical altercation, it would only worsen the state of their relationship. So he pulled back from N’Jadaka, removing himself from within his body and leaning back onto his haunches.

 

N’Jadaka rolled over and quickly yanked the purple silk covers of their bedding over his body, covering his bare genitals, and stared blankly at the ceiling. His head shaking slightly in disbelief.

 

T’Challa quickly evacuated the bed, groping for the traditional trousers he preferred that laid haphazardly on the floor he pulled them up and settled back down on the bed. T’Challa muttered words of apology in Xhosa as he attempted to stroke N’Jadaka’s bare ankle, but N’Jadaka kicked away his caresses and acted as if he were deaf.

 

T’Challa knew N’Jadaka on a normal day was quick to anger, though the fire had simmered some in the last years when provoked he was like a blazing inferno. So T’Challa was not surprised that his response was full of emotion, and he could see N’Jadaka was ready to lash out at him, barely keeping control over his anger.

 

He could see the fury in his eyes and the foam at the corner of his lips and T’Challa knew that for any progression in their relationship, he would need to give his queen time and space, trusting that N’Jadaka would soon see reason.

 

So he pulled his dashiki over his sweat-soaked body and moved to press a kiss to N’Jadaka’s cheek, but the fierce glare he received stopped him in his tracks and T’Challa gave him a look of reprimand before turning in his heel. T’Challa slipped silently from their room, holding N’Jadaka’s gaze for a prolonged moment as the door closed behind him.

 

As T’Challa entered their greeting room he heard the sound of ceramic smashing against the wall from the doors behind him. Then more shattering and glass smashing and the sounds of destruction. Wincing, T’Challa crossed their living space to the door leading to the hallway. T’Challa knew that N’Jadaka had broken the mirrors lining their room, the decorative statues, their various plants, and if he hadn't he was going to.

 

As his eyes met those of Teela, he inclined his head in greeting. The youngest Dora Milaje returned his gaze but gave him a quizzical look as she stood at her post and T’Challa was thankful his room was soundproof. Her eyes were light and inquisitive but T’Challa firmly shook his head and stalked away.  There would be no explanation.

 

As N’Jadaka destroyed their marital rooms, T’Challa walked down the palace hallways, the large windows allowing in the starry night Wakandan sky. His body and mind, numb. His thighs and chest ached, his breath was harsh and his veins pumped the hormones of a delayed orgasm. T’Challa knew he would find no relief - physically or mentally - tonight and the revelation made him uncomfortable.

 

His feet led him not on his usual path to Shuri’s lab but instead to the royal gardens.

 

Teela thankfully did not follow him.

 

* * *

 

 

"I told N’Jadaka of my lover," T’Challa said as Shuri approached. Shuri’s eyes widened fractionally and then narrowed as she drew closer and stood next to her sibling.

 

"And he was not particularly pleased."

 

Shuri said nothing for a long moment. The Wakandan night air caressed their faces and the scent of flowering plants seducing their senses. T’Challa sat in their clearing, a piece of paradise away from the looming presence of the monarchy. Their hidden clearing was situated at the edge of the forest where the royal gardens became one with the encroaching force of nature. It was a circular clearing, with towering trees that bore down over them and lined with small purple flowers the same shade as the heart-shaped herb.

 

He made himself comfortable on the grass, shifting slightly as the grass bent underneath his weight and the sweet smell of sap rose to his nose, the night air brushing against his skin to remind him that he was alive and this, sadly wasn’t a dream.

 

"You have a … mistress." Shuri stated matter-of-factly. T’Challa nodded, he like his sister liked to speak of facts and certainties, possibilities were not afforded to those born into royalty. Shuri broke their eye contact to rub wearily at the side of her face and sighed as if her breath was weighed and heavy.

 

"Why, ubhuti?” It was only two words, but they were the only words T’Challa needed. Shuri was a good listener. That was one of many skills she excelled at more than he. She could give anyone her undivided attention, listen intently, nod where appropriate, and package her response in the most appropriate manner and get to the root of a problem quicker than any other interrogator T’Challa knew. Moments like this reminded T’Challa of why she was his most trusted confidant and his unspoken second in command.

 

"Ubhuti, what possessed you to share your body with someone else? You have a Queen." It was not an accusation, but a question and a statement, and it showed the confusion Shuri felt at the whole situation. T’Challa shook his head and stared off into the distant glittering city of Birnin Zana.

 

"The relationship between N’Jadaka and I is not what you think Usisi. There is no love between us. Monica is my chance at a true relationship, built on a foundation of love like Baba and Umama.” T’Challa revealed, looking deep into Shuri’s eyes.

 

Shuri’s eyes sparkled with unbridled rage, sparking from his comments and her own thoughts, “she is not your wife T’Challa. N’Jadaka is your queen and you disrespect him when you spill your seed elsewhere.” Shuri spat with venom.

 

T’Challa looked beyond her words and saw the unspoken lyrics of her heart in her eyes. She was pained, obviously, she held some preconceived notions of love that T’Challa had just shattered, but he couldn’t find it within himself to mind too much. Such was the reality of love and life and he did not want her blindsided by life as she previously was with the death of their father.

 

“Monica is an attractive woman, intelligent with a thirst for life. There is no reason why she cannot remain, my partner when I reside outside of Wakanda, I have no intention of bringing her here or accosting N’Jadaka in his role as Queen. Monica is my one indulgence.”  T’Challa trailed off and Shuri kissed her teeth, “it’s an indulgence you’re not allowed” she muttered under her breath.

 

"How did N’Jadaka react to your news?" Shuri asked, regaining her cool and detached facade. Though they had never discussed it, T’Challa assumed she was aware of his marital troubles, she was perceptive like that, though he was sure the surface of her understanding had drastically changed in the last moments. Shuri came from the school of thought that experience would teach you what school did not, and one of those skills was problem-solving. His marital problems were a rough patch that she, and his mother, had probably assumed they would pull through and fit back into the mould of the ‘perfect relationship’.

 

T’Challa doubted Shuri or their mother would have predicted that he would sleep with another, disregard the oath he pledged before their tribe, their ancestors, and their people, to N’Jadaka.

 

T’Challa let out a laugh, humorous though pained, and he shook his head. “About as well as you would expect, though I’m puzzled by his reaction.”

 

Shuri levelled a heavy, undiscernable look at him and T’Challa met her gaze. He knew she was calculating the fall out of his actions again. Though no one had come forward and accused T’Challa of murder, it was evident in the scrutiny of their gazes.  The public felt as though his inaction had caused his father’s death, the subsequent pit that Wakandan politics had descended into was just his penance.

 

T’Challa had become King under the narrative of destruction and corruption and it was a narrative intertwined with his own story.

 

"N’Jadaka did not appreciate knowing the full story?" T’Challa frowned at this and fixed her with a look. "There is no tale to tell Shuri. Monica supplies me with what N’Jadaka does not, that is all. That is the grand explanation for my behaviour. I was not intoxicated or drugged or poisoned and I regret nothing of my actions, only that I did not tell N’Jadaka before. My life was not in danger, it was not part of a military or intelligence effort, I slept with Monica because she was available to me."

 

Shuri did not argue with his logic. She had met Monica, albeit briefly when T’Challa had taken her for a US conference. She was unfailingly polite and neither had relayed anything of their relationship in public but Shuri had seen the edge of desire in Monica’s eyes and the tension leaving T’Challa’s shoulders but she’d put it down to a release of stress, not thinking T’Challa would ever sleep with another.

 

Shuri had thought his respect for N’Jadaka would have eclipsed T’Challa’s lust for her Monica.

 

"I understand that T’Challa, but at no point have you thought to replace N’Jadaka as your mate or your Queen, right? You understand why I’m sceptical of your relationship with her …” Her voice trailed off in the night.

 

“Do not try to add politics to my actions Usisi, N’Jadaka had no stipulations to our marriage and fidelity was not promised to each other. Some may consider my actions immoral but I don’t believe that it is hard to understand that our marriage is in name only. I may have belaboured him with roles, rules, regulations, and expectations, but N’Jadaka agreed to all of that in exchange for becoming Queen. Do not be naive Shuri, there was no sacred bond broken within our marriage.” T’Challa spoke in a cold final tone that Shuri had only ever heard him use with the Taifa Ngao, he spoke to her as a member of the Tribe of Bast and not as blood.

 

Shuri shook her head but nodded, clicking her tongue. "At least, explain to N’Jadaka what happened T’Challa, he deserves a full explanation, you owe him honesty, because you pledged that to him alongside your love, whether you intended to keep your vows or not. Do not deprive him of what he is due, T’Challa.” Shuri spoke with conviction as if she knew that her method would yield the best results as if she knew the answer to all difficulties in the world. She would always have his back, have his best interests at heart even if she believed him to be in the wrong. He appreciated all that she did and would do for him. Even if it meant facing his fears.

 

T’Challa moved his eyes from hers for the first time in their conversation and stared off into the distance at the glittering Birnin Zana. “Monica was the first decision I’ve made for myself in a long time Shuri.”

* * *

 

Their bedroom window was broken and the night air entered in from off the balcony.

 

T’Challa stared at the sheer amount of damage as he walked into their apartment and [ast the carnage. His approach was purposefully slow and he hesitated slightly as he walked into their bedroom.

 

Far from the traditional wakandan attire he usually wore in the palace, N’Jadaka had put on black Nike sweatpants and a navy tank top, and his waist-length dreadlocks were pulled up high in a bun and he was silent, staring out in contemplation.

 

He was sitting on the bed, slumped forward, eyes listless and distant, smoking marijuana T’Challa didn’t know he had, the fragrant aroma caressing his nose. T’Challa would have snapped at him to at least have gone outside but the window had been broken and there was no need for him to stop - beyond depriving himself of early-onset psychosis.

 

"You're bleeding, N’Jadaka." T’Challa murmured, gesturing at his bruised and bloody knuckles, even as blood dripped onto the wooden flooring.

 

"Aren't you fucking observant," N’Jadaka muttered in distaste. The rolled joint of marijuana hung on his lip and the ash fell, burning the silk sheets below him. T’Challa shifted and breathed to release the nervous energy in his body, conversing with N’Jadaka was like avoiding minefields and T’Challa was not particularly prepared for tentative discussion.

 

"There's glass in your hands, N’Jadaka. Will you please let me assist you?” T’Challa asked, his patience wearing thin. He didn’t wait for a reply and instead walked into their adjoining bathroom and began puttering around looking for supplies.

 

“Forget about the blood, T’Challa, we need to talk.” N’Jadaka’s voice was cold and he spoke in short clipped tones. T’Challa rolled his eyes and ignored him, finding the supplies and bringing them back into the room.

 

"Give me your hands," The Wakandan King instructed as he knelt down amongst the strewn glass, in front of his partner and queen. He ignored the glass digging into his knees and the blood he knew would stick his trousers to his limbs - the slight pain was insignificant if he could move the conversation between them forward.

 

He reached for N’Jadaka’s hand. These hands he held, he’d longed for much time to caress and even now he couldn’t ignore the pang in his heart that came from feeling the warm of N’Jadaka’s skin. T’Challa had clasped them when he needed support, to remind himself of the great unrequited love he held for N’Jadaka. These were the hands of his one and only Queen but no longer the hands of his only love.

 

Surprisingly, N’Jadaka relented, but T’Challa knew the motion was reluctant and stiff. Their movements had lost the familiarity and ease that long years of marriage had brought within hours.

 

"We need to talk," N’Jadaka muttered without looking at his husband.

 

"We are," T’Challa replied, gently cleaning the wounds with a cloth dabbed with some mixture that burned slightly at his nose hair. He brushed away the blood before spreading a luminescent green paste and beginning to wrap the hand in thin brown cloth.

 

"You know what I mean," N’Jadaka said, eyes still staring off into the distance.

 

"At this moment, your hand is of utmost importance, not a conversation we can continue at any other time," T’Challa explained, as he wrapped the palm and knuckles tightly in gauze, tying it off with a bow.

 

"As usual, you control everything. For fuck's sake T’Challa just be honest and upfront for once." N’Jadaka’s words were fuelled with venom and he intended his barb to be a stab at T’Challa’s chest, he was prone to lashing out when upset, but knowing this did not stop the hurt blossoming in T’Challa’s chest.

 

"Unfortunately for you, that is an integral part of me, it is not something I can merely switch off N’Jadaka." T’Challa murmured, N’Jadaka swallowed audibly and a vein throbbed in his neck.

 

T’Challa knew that he was narrowly avoiding a bloody fight with N’Jadaka but he couldn’t help the blood boiling under his skin. The Wakandan Queen sent him a look of total disapprobation as he took a long drag of his ‘medicine’ and purposefully blew the smoke in T’Challa’s face.

 

T’Challa bristled but said nothing and ignored the smoke as he stood. He returned all the medicine back into the package and walked back into the bathroom.

 

Once T’Challa left the room, N’Jadaka flicked the ash off the end of his blunt before looking at his herbal remedy and dropping it to the ground, crushing it under his heel. As T’Challa entered the room again, N’Jadaka pinned him with a glare and a short, “Speak.”

 

T’Challa raised an eyebrow and walked over to N’Jadaka, taking a seat alongside him on the bed. He looked at N’Jadaka, really looked at him for the first time in a long time and the tight-lipped monarch stared back at him with narrowed eyes.

 

"Pardon?" T’Challa asked, partially prompting N’Jadaka to continue and partially hoping N’Jadaka would fix his tone when talking to him.

 

N’Jadaka glared harder and spat, “Do you love the bitch?”

 

T’Challa’s eyes widened fractionally and he shook his head. “Why? You never cared about my love before, mahabubu.”

 

N’Jadaka immediately pressed a finger to his lips, eyes promising danger. “Don’t you dare call me that T’Challa.”

 

N’Jadaka breathed deeply, hands falling back to his side, clenching into a fist then releasing.

 

“Who’s the bitch you’ve been fucking?” N’Jadaka asked blunt and straight to the point.

 

“Her name is Monica,” T’Challa replied, the admission coming out of him easier than he thought it would. T’Challa’s eyes searched for something in N’Jadaka’s face as he waited for the next question, instead, he was greeted with a sight and sudden change in the atmosphere.

 

“You introduced us?” N’Jadaka said suddenly, voice low - a whisper, and dangerously soft at that. It was a statement, not a question, “in Atlanta. You introduced Shuri and I to her.”

 

"Yes," T’Challa replied in kind, with the same soft whisper. N’Jadaka’s hand clenched in this lap and his eyes shut. That was not the reaction T’Challa wanted.

 

"Why doesn't that surprise me." N’Jadaka's tone of voice was void of any warmth and his lips were slowly curling into a sneer. T’Challa never expected that to be aimed at him and he had to curb his urge to lash out in response.

 

T’Challa turned his face, the sight of N’Jadaka’s face the look of sheer hatred and the anger in his eyes made a part of his heartache. "N’Jadaka, … I have no words, truthfully." T’Challa said, his voice adding a soothing tone in an attempt to help. A complete contrast to his normally strong, solid tone and stoic stature.

 

"First of all, don’t call me by that fucking name T’Challa, you have no right. Second, I don’t want your bullshit apologies, T’Challa." N’Jadaka pushed off of the bed and walked nearer to the open and broken balcony - a good metaphor for the current stance of their relationship.

 

"I am not offering an apology for my actions N’Jadaka, merely an apology for not telling you prior to it reaching this point," T’Challa said, his kingly veneer firmly in place, this was not the stature of a man looking for repentance.

 

N’Jadaka’s eyes flashed but he said not a word, leaning against the adjacent wall he levelled a cool look at T’Challa. "You owe me a fucking explanation if not an apology you piece of shit.” N’Jadaka took a deep breath, “Please, tell me exactly how you managed to end up balls deep in ‘Monica’." N’Jadaka ordered, leaving no room for argument.

 

T’Challa bristled but he said not a word, he slumped forward slightly moving his body into a relaxed stance, his fingers formed a bridge under his chin as he collected his thoughts.

 

“Monica was a friend before she became my lover. She accompanied me during the UN conference in Serbia and our relationship progressed from platonic to sexual. We found that we had much in common and from that point on it was a matter of biology.” T’Challa finished with a look up at N’Jadaka. He couldn’t read the emotions within N’Jadaka’s eyes but he knew that there was more than just anger and disgust, there was a profound pain as well.

 

"Who kissed who first?" N’Jadaka asked after a moment. His voice was strained and T’Challa could tell he was holding himself back from shouting and screaming, from unleashing all of his emotions onto him.

 

T’Challa’s eyes fell shut. "I kissed her." He bit out almost reluctantly, it didn’t do well for him to admit his shortcomings in such a public manner. Revealing one’s mistakes so bluntly was an intrusive feeling and one that he was not used to. T’Challa was reluctant to go further and describe his sordid sexual affair in detail, though his actions were just, his personal principles raged against his decision to tell his Queen that he had committed adultery. The story was as disrespectful out loud as it was inside of his head and he cursed himself inwardly for allowing things to proceed in the manner in which he did.

 

N’Jadaka swallowed audibly before nodding and straightening his posture. He exhaled deeply as he shook his head as if in disbelief, “you’re really rolling like I ain’t at home waiting for you?” N’Jadaka asked though T’Challa knew it was rhetorical. When N’Jadaka was heated he lost the soft Wakandan accent of his people and instead his thick Californian American accent returned with full force. “Y’all’d’ve really let me sit there like boo-boo the fucking fool knowing full and damn well that you fucked each other? You had this bitch smile in my fucking face T’Challa!”

 

T’Challa did not attempt to interrupt and say anything in his defence, allowing N’Jadaka to vent, although his eye twitched at the names N’Jadaka ascribed Monica. “So that's it? That's all it takes? One bottle of red and an opportunity to fuck some bitch?" N’Jadaka snapped. T’Challa shook his head as he let out a sigh and raised, making himself comfortable on the tattered bed.

 

“N’Jadaka, please refrain from calling Monica that word, you know nothing about her,” T’Challa said wearily, rubbing at his temples. N’Jadaka was not pleased in hearing that.

 

“I’m allowed to call her what the fuck I want T’Challa, she’s not one of my fucking friends though she’s obviously your ‘fucking’ friend.” The emphasis wasn’t lost on the Wakandan monarch who rolled his eyes.

 

"All it takes is an opportunity for you to have someone legs spread, ass up under you? Giving away the same dick promised to me?” N’Jadaka asked. He violently blew out air and shook his head. T’Challa raised his head to stare into coffee coloured eyes, rage simmered under his skin. N’Jadaka had no right.

 

“ What would you have me do N’Jadaka? Hmm,” T’Challa continued to stare down N’Jadaka as he spoke, “live a loveless life? I resigned myself to living without love when I married you. I can accept that, but I refuse to live without love anymore. You do not want me, but that does not mean others would not be grateful for the warmth of my touch.”

 

Though T’Challa did not shout or scream he saw the visible effect his words had on N’Jadaka. The sepia-skinned male shivered slightly, his gaze never leaving T’Challa’s as he furrowed his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

Moving swiftly, he walked over to T’Challa kneeling down in the glass and never breaking eye contact.

 

N’Jadaka shook his head. "You’re supposed to be mine," his voice was full of emotion and laced with pain.

 

T’Challa stared into eyes full of emotion he knew N’Jadaka would never articulate. Pride was N’Jadaka’s downfall and T’Challa knew it would be his greatest adversary in trying to move their relationship forward.

 

It was understandable. N’Jadaka was the Xtihilziyohaja of Wakanda and a prized warrior of Sekhmet. He had every right to an inflated ego and T’Challa knew it was a blow to his ego to find that his husband had a lover with which he was satisfied.

 

A lover which was not him.

 

T’Challa could assume that he felt betrayed, angry, disrespected but he would have to come to terms because T’Challa felt no way. Things would be changing in the foreseeable future and he wanted the transition to be a smooth as possible. Though he was not afraid to admit that the thought of another being privy to the look of absolute pleasure on N’Jadaka eyes as he orgasmed, or another person touching the intimate parts of N’Jadaka’s body that belonged to T’Challa by marriage. The thought made his blood boil and his body tense, it was selfish of him but T’Challa did not care N’Jadaka was his and Monica was as well.

 

“N’Jadaka I had no intention of hurting you with my actions, nor did I intend for you to suffer any disrespect and I apologise for the way in which I told you. However, we both know that our marriage is one of convenience and I can no longer try and hide my need for reciprocal intimacy from my partner.”

 

N’Jadaka scoffed at his words.

 

Inwardly T’Challa let the slight slide, it could not be easy for N’Jadaka and he understood that however he could feel his patience growing thin and he was ever so close to bringing the full fury of Bast down on N’Jadaka.

 

T’Challa didn’t know what N’Jadaka truly felt, but he knew that whatever emotion was welling inside of him was ready to burst. They were akin to two stars destined for collision, collateral damage was sure to ensue. The destruction of their rooms hadn’t ebbed the bloodlust that coursed through N’Jadaka’s veins. It was both an omen for the state of their relationship and a warning.

 

T’Challa stared at N’Jadaka but the pledge of Sekhmet forcefully broke their eye contact, stretching his hands forward he gripped N’Jadaka’s shoulders and positioned his body to look him dead in the eyes. “I am yours, now and forever that is what I promised to you." T’Challa spoke with sincerity, “but, Monica fulfils me in ways in which I cannot explain.”

 

There was a desperate wistful tone to T’Challa’s voice that T’Challa knew was the cause of the wrinkle of disgust in N’Jadaka’s nose. The evident desperation in T’Challa’s voice made him raise an eyebrow and pause for a moment, puzzled. He couldn’t understand why exactly, but his voice held a yearning for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

T’Challa both wanted and needed N’Jadaka to understand his decision but to also give him his seal of approval. N’Jadaka was his confidant and partner and despite the lack of romantic, sexual desire between them, T’Challa wanted the security of N’Jadaka’s presence and opinion in his life still.

 

While the Wakandan monarch was sure N’Jadaka understood on some level that T’Challa loved him deeply and passionately, he also knew that on some level N’Jadaka took sadistic joy in his unrequited love. T’Challa had never made a decision that benefitted himself first and foremost and all he wanted was Monica.

 

Taking a leap of faith, T’Challa leaned forward pressing full lips against N’Jadaka’s bare and scarred shoulder, nails digging into N’Jadaka’s biceps as he attempted to convey his feelings without words. T’Challa couldn’t lose N’Jadaka, didn’t want to lose N’Jadaka but he wanted Monica as well. N’Jadaka was his sun but Monica was his rock.

 

N’Jadaka raised a shaking hand to T’Challa’s head, slowly stroked his scalp. He paused a moment before slowly fingering the tight curls of T’Challa’s hair. T’Challa knew N’Jadaka was attempting to reign in his anger as he pieced together the situation and his response in his head.

 

The revelation had crumbled N’Jadaka’s life to ash, T’Challa could feel it in N’Jadaka’s shivering body. It would be long before the cold left his bones, N’Jadaka struggled to keep warm or project any warmth and T’Challa knew better than to expect anything from him in the coming hours, he would need time to process and recalibrate.

 

N’Jadaka turned his head to the side and rested it in the crook of T’Challa's neck as he visibly mulled over his decision. They sat in silence for a good while before N’Jadaka began shaking his head and pulling away.

 

“No,” was all he said.

 

"Wait," T’Challa whispered, reaching out a hand to N’Jadaka, who continued to shake his head and shuffle backwards. His back hitting the wall of their rooms with a loud thump.

 

"N’Jadaka, mahabubu, listen," T’Challa asked, his voice pleading. He pinched at the bridge of his nose to stop the pain from radiating and to sort his thoughts, physically trying to pull himself together.

 

"You need to leave T’Challa."

 

N’Jadaka's words rang in T’Challa's ears and his lips opened and closed as if he couldn’t remember how to form the words he wished to say. N’Jadaka's expression was cold, his lips pulled into a thin line and his eyes flashing.

 

T’Challa leaned down and pressed warm lips against fine cheekbones in a sincere kiss. "Understood, we will continue this conversation tomorrow," T’Challa said, standing and collecting himself.  N’Jadaka avoided his gaze though T’Challa could see the hurt he tried to hide.

 

N’Jadaka laughed dryly. "I don't think you understand. Leave. Now." he said.

 

N’Jadaka took a deep breath.

 

"I don't want to talk tomorrow."

 

T’Challa shifted and moved his body into N’Jadaka’s eyeline so that N’Jadaka looked directly at him. "N’Jadaka ..." T’Challa murmured, moving his hand forward and tentatively, reaching out to him like he was a skittish cat.

 

"N’Jadaka what do you mean exactly?" T’Challa’s voice held no room for discussion or argument though N’Jadaka’s body language relayed his disgust at T’Challa’s approach.

 

"The word ‘leave’ usually suggests that the other person leave the vicinity promptly. I also intended it to relay a casual ‘fuck you’ to accompany it.” N’Jadaka explained snidely, fingers running through his dreads involuntarily, pulling them out of their tie.

 

T’Challa flared his nostrils but did not say a word. A large part of him cursed himself for still leaving a point of vulnerability within his heart at which N’Jadaka could use against him. Despite the pain caused by loving N’Jadaka, the path to his heart designated for N’Jadaka was obscured but still open. Albeit crooked, and narrower.

 

N’Jadaka had his heart, unfortunately for him.

 

"T’Challa you’re asking me to give you permission to disrespect me in front of the world and turn a blind eye? How dare you.” N’Jadaka started, T’Challa could see where his nails drew blood from where his hands had balled into fists. “The day I let you shame me and this monarchy is the day I remove that throne from your hands,” N’Jadaka said with bite.

 

T’Challa’s body bristled. T’Challa fought against the impulse of his body to teach N’Jadaka his place below him. T’Challa’s heart, however, wanted to forgive his insolence or at least make peace with him until the morning, but his mind wouldn’t rest until something gave.

 

T’Challa moved forward before he could think clearly and touched N’Jadaka's cheek. "What do I need to do, N’Jadaka to convince you?"

 

The last bit of N’Jadaka’s self-control snapped at T’Challa's words and the dam within him that T’Challa knew held everything back, broke.

 

N’Jadaka rose to his feet and grabbed T’Challa by his shoulders, twisting and turning he shoved T’Challa against the wall behind him, holding him there with a strong grip. Flexing his muscles, N’Jadaka exerted the physical prowess T’Challa often admired and bared his gold canines in a snarl.

 

"You think you can just fuck whatever you like? Disrespect me outside of the borders?" N’Jadaka growled, his grip tight bruising the flesh beneath his fingers.

 

"You're really going to FUCKING ASK PERMISSION TO SINK YOUR DICK IN SOME BLACK BITCH YOU FOUND ON THE STREET!" N’Jadaka’s voice echoed around them, the pain evident in his voice.

 

Flinging his fist into the wall next to T’Challa’s head, the clay crumbled under his fist dusting his knuckles white. N’Jadaka breathed both heavily and deeply for a few long stilted moments before his fist flattened to a palm and he dropped his head down against the wall, adjacent to T’Challa’s own.

 

Ever so slowly, T’Challa saw the fight leave his body as he made his rapid descent to the ground. N’Jadaka hit the ground with a soft thump and crumpled into himself. Falling against T’Challa’s legs, T’Challa stayed still and said nothing.

 

N’Jadaka breathed deeply before raising his fist and punching the wooden floor beneath him repeatedly. He went on for a good while until the steam left his body and he just lay there in a heap. They didn’t say a word to one another for a few long minutes before T’Challa heard N’Jadaka forcing out words between gritted teeth.

 

“I have risked everything to be with you T’Challa. As a consequence of that, I gave you everything that constituted me T’Challa. I will not see my legacy be tarnished by your penis, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think but you will not get my permission to dick that bitch and I swear that on Sekhmet. You will not humiliate me.”

 

“I gave you everything, N’Jadaka. You have wanted for nothing, I gave you my love though you have failed to reciprocate the feeling. I refuse to allow you to dictate what I do. I reign as Wakanda’s king, not you, and if I have to be rid of you to get what I want so help me, Bast, I will. I am not to be played with!” T’Challa punctuated his reply with spittle flying from the corners of his mouth and the flashing of his eyes.

 

N’Jadaka shook his head and veered to his feet, looking T’Challa in the eyes.

 

“Fuck you,” N’Jadaka spat, his face flushed with rage and pain, eyes red and nose flared.  He turned and walked to the door, bare feet attacked by the broken glass strewn across the floor. T’Challa wanted to say something, as N’Jadaka walked through the door, but all of his words died on their journey to his mouth.

 

The battle wasn’t over, instead, T’Challa felt as though it had just begun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xhosa Words
> 
> Umama - Mother  
> Ubhuti - Brother  
> Usisi - Sister  
> Mahabubu - Beloved  
> Kipenzi - Dear One


	2. Kujichagulia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kujichagulia (Self-Determination): To define and name ourselves, as well as to create and speak for ourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Shuri is based on a mixture of the MCU and the comics, so while she has childish moments she is still very serious and mature especially after the death of her father. Furthermore, N’Jobu and T’Chaka were not brother's but instead brothers in law, with N’Yami and N’Jobu being cousins raised as siblings in the house of Sekhmet.  
> Additionally, this is un-beta'd and will be soon however if you see any spelling mistakes etc buzz me and I'll try to fic up as best as I can.
> 
> I completely understand those who don't think they could continue to read this fic because of the direction in which it is going, thank you for reading and I have appreciated your comments and support this far. Hopefully, we'll meet again in another fanfic! 
> 
> Lastly, this fic will be darker to an extent, I intend to really get into Wakandan politics and cultural manifestations because of this there will be graphic violence that would be seen as abhorrent in the west, please keep this in mind when you're reading.
> 
> ENJOY X

UNDER CONSTRUCTION  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Xhosa, Zulu and Swahili:
> 
> Kipenzi - Dear One  
> Mahabubu - Beloved  
> Ubhuti - Brother  
> Ewe - Yes  
> Ndiyo - Yes  
> Ninakupenda sana - I Love You  
> Ndiyakuthanda - I Love You  
> Umdala - Elder
> 
> Trivia:
> 
> Taifa Ngao - The name for the Council  
> Djalia - Ancestral Spiritual Plane   
> La'aka - the ritual partener during the Kyoraikumkani  
> Kyoraikumkani - the Ritual battle for someone to become a prince and later King   
> Xtihilziyohaja - Heart of the Land  
> Please comment I enjoy hearing all your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Xhosa Words
> 
> Umama - Mother  
> Ubhuti - Brother  
> Usisi - Sister  
> Mahabubu - Beloved  
> Kipenzi - Dear One


End file.
